


like a river, diverted

by smolstiel



Series: Boyking!Sam Drabbles [26]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Gun Violence, Prince of Hell | Yellow-Eyed Demon Sam Winchester, Prophetic Visions, Sam Winchester's Demonic Powers, kind of?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-23
Updated: 2020-03-23
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:40:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23275678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smolstiel/pseuds/smolstiel
Summary: in the wake of a vision, sam tries something.
Series: Boyking!Sam Drabbles [26]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1135400
Comments: 4
Kudos: 44
Collections: BoyKingSam discord server prompt-fight fills





	like a river, diverted

**Author's Note:**

> another prompt from the boyking bitches. inspired by that lovely scene in asylum, we were to use the lines, “put the gun down, sam,” and, “is that an order?”

_”Put the gun down, Sam.”_

There’s a million miles between now and that future. The dream crackles and dies with a snap of heat in his temples like the friction of a rubber band. It doesn’t hurt, now. Hasn’t hurt since Cold Oak. It makes it easy to hide these things. 

Dean’s saying something, halfway between the bed and the door. He’s annoyed, confused, brows slightly raised and eyes hard with expectation. “Sam. Put the gun down. Let’s go.” 

He looks down — there is a gun there. Huh. He’d forgotten he’d been cleaning them when his brother had burst in babbling about food and a case and explaining in the car. It has a nice heft to it, warm in his grip where he’s been holding it a while. 

There’s a million miles between the dream and this moment, because Sam’s heading it off before it ever arrives. 

Almost out of a sense of morbid curiosity, Sam takes aim, cocks the gun. “Is that an order?” 

“What the fuck,” Dean says, hands suddenly up in defense, a half step back. “Hey, whoa, what in the fuck do you think you’re doing?! Put that away, quit fooling around!” 

Sam doesn’t put it away. He gets up, keeping the barrel pointed at Dean, and follows him. No words, only intent. Sam knows too much. He knows what Dean is going to say, what movements he will make. Sam recognizes the way his eyes cut to the side towards the door. It’s months early, but Dean is the same man. 

“Sam. Sam! _Stop it!_ ” There’s fear in the air, acrid, burning the inside of Sam’s nostrils. He wants to relish in it, mix it with iron and sulfur and steel.

Dean’s against the wall now, somehow, words still pouring out like a fountain. Rage, terror, confusion, self-doubt, a cocktail of emotions that Sam expects. They’re normal, he guesses, since Dean wouldn’t have anticipated this, wouldn’t have seen it like Sam did. 

Sam pulls the trigger. 

_Click._ The empty chamber gives a loud metallic noise, and Dean flinches violently. He looks on, uncomprehending, as Sam lowers the gun, steps back, and deposits the metal husk into his brother’s grip. 

“Now you know what will happen,” he says. “You’ll be prepared. Don’t let it happen.” He’s not sure if he’s told Dean hoping that it would save him, or hoping for some deviation from the dreams. Anything different would be a relief at this point. He knows too much. 

Sam leaves him sagging against the wall, loose hands full of warm metal. He smiles when he hears behind him something new, something he hasn’t heard before. 

“Holy Jesus,” Dean mutters as Sam steps out into the afternoon sun. The air’s shimmering above the Impala, and he wonders if that’s what’s making his eyes that honey-yellow, reflecting back at him in the car window. 


End file.
